


Of Harpies and Wolves

by KA513



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Crude Humor, Gen, Kidnapping, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mentions of Slavery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, point of view changes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KA513/pseuds/KA513
Summary: After the mysterious disappearance of their daughter, The Client takes a huge gamble in hiring a Mandalorian mercenary and occasional pirate known as Fenris Claddanna. But not all is as it seems. A random kidnapping is just the beginning of a series of events that will ultimately lead to far greater troubles; ones with galactic consequences.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> When I originally envisioned this story, the entire thing was going to be written in the second person present tense viewpoint, as a challenge. That got very annoying very quickly, so I abandoned it. This is the only chapter written this way, as I like it too much to swap to the third person viewpoint I'll be using for the rest of the fic.

**Streets of New Hythe, Concord Dawn, Mandalorian Sector, 4BBY**

You glance down at your datapad. You're sure you can't be too far from the tapcaf your contact mentioned. The Mistraili is the tapcaf to be at in New Hythe. It's where traders go to haggle over goods, local chieftains meet to conduct business, and the locals go to try and get off-world. It's also where you're most likely to meet _him_. You need his help, if you can convince him to give it. You'll pay for his services, of course. Hopefully you can afford his rates. You don't know what you'll do if you can't.

Another turn, and you see it. The Mistraili. A shining beacon of hope amidst the dreary town. Wait,no. That was just the running lights of a freighter passing overhead, temporarily creating a break in the kriffing drizzle. It's been drizzling ever since you set foot on this backwater planet. That was five days ago. Yesterday, you finally caught a break, though. Yesterday, your informant gave you the name and location of the Mistraili. Where he would be. Probably. Hopefully, that last bit is true. You need his help more desperately than mere words can convey. He is your only hope of finding and rescuing her. To do that, though, he needs to find _them_.

Your thoughts carry you to the entrance of the Mistraili, a wave of desperation passing over you as you reach out a hand for the door. Mentally steeling yourself, you push the door open, and enter. The moment you walk in, conversation ceases. Belatedly, you realize that your once-immaculate clothing, now hopelessly caked with dirt and grime from countless hours of roughing it these past few weeks, mark you as an outsider. An aruetii in the local tongue, you think. It's a word you've heard constantly in the recent past, always with a negative tone. The barmaid eyes you as you approach, one hand disappearing beneath the bar. Behind you, hushed conversations resume, all in a language you barely recognize, let alone understand. One word stands out clearly, though. _Aruetii_.

“What can I get you?” The barmaid growls, not exactly personifying _hospitable_.

“Whatever the House special is.” You say, removing a handful of mismatched coins from your pocket. “And information.”

“That'd be nert'ra gal. Eight credits a pint. Information could be costly, though.”

You extend your hand, offering up the credits. “I'm looking for someone” You say.

Trading credits for glass, the barmaid raises an eyebrow. “ _Very_ costly. You have a name?”

“Got that and a description. Some merc by the name of Claddanna. Wears green and tan armour. I think the first name is Fenris.” Conversation behind you ceases again.

“Who wants to know?” A strongly-accented voice calls out.

“I do.” You glance towards the direction the voice came from. It's a corner of the bar shrouded in darkness. Of course it would be. Belatedly, you realize that there's no cover between you and that corner. A mid-sized blue-furred creature sits there, half in shadow. Amber eyes regard you levelly, disdain evident in their gaze. Clearly whomever this is not thrilled with your presence here. The visible corner of its mouth curls in a snarl. It definitely doesn't like you. Rapidly, you continue. “My name is not important. What is important is I require the services of the one called Claddanna.”

“Do you really think me so stupid?” The furred alien growls out. Evidently, it was the owner of the voice from before. “Like I would trust a stranger with no name?”

“ _Udesii, cyar'ika_.” A masculine voice interjects from deeper in the shadows. Gently, a black and green armoured hand reaches out and squeezes the alien's shoulder. “He probably doesn't realize the way things work here.”

“He still could be an Imperial assassin.” The alien growls out. “He may have skills.”

“If he is an Imperial assassin, or an assassin of any sort, he's especially stupid. He would never make it out of here alive.”

You clear your throat politely. “Uh, I'm not an Imperial assassin. Or an assassin of any sort. And I'd really like to know what you mean by 'never make it out of here alive.' I thought this was a bar?”

Whomever is in the shadows chuckles, a low, ominous sound. “The meaning is straightforward. Even a child would comprehend what I'm saying.”

“I thought this place had a rule about no blasters.” You stammer. You can feel the faint sheet of sweat beading on your forehead, and your mouth has gone quite dry. “I saw the sigil.”

“Who said anything about blasters? Take a look behind you _aruetii_. Slowly.”

Swallowing nervously, you rotate your head. Sure enough, two Mandalorians stand behind you, knives at the ready. The first thing you realize is that those knives have a wickedly sharp edge. The second is that you never heard either bounty hunter – you think they're both female based on the armour – stand. The third thing you realize is that you really need to change your trousers.

Around you, the remaining denizens of the bar laugh. Even the furred alien can't help but snort in amusement. Clearly, this was going to provide the basis for a lot of jokes in the near future.

“As you can see, _aruetii_ , I'm not exactly an easy target. So if all you're looking to do is drag me out to claim a bounty, I suggest you _usen'ye_ before my _vode_ make _gihaal_ out of you.”

“I'm not a bounty hunter. I'm actually looking to hire one. May I sit?” You motion to the seat opposite the furred alien. She – you're pretty sure it's female – bares her teeth at you, but the armoured hand on her shoulder grips her a little more firmly. Almost reluctantly, the alien relaxes and nods to the seat in front of her.

“So tell me, _aruetii_.” The male voice says casually. “Why do you need a bounty hunter? Why Fenris? There's hundreds of low life amoral _beroy'ade_ who can hunt down and kill a target. Why pick someone who's as expensive as him?”

Sinking into the indicated seat, you take a moment to compose yourself. “Because,” You say. “He's the best at what he does.”

“And that is?” The males' voice carries with it a hint of smugness, almost mocking you with its syrupy sweet tone.

“The fiddly jobs. Live recovery.”

“Details.”

“Three months ago, they came and raided my house. They took just about everything that wasn't hidden away. They also...” You choke back a low sob. Even with the weeks you've spent looking, the emotion is too fresh, too painful. Swallowing again, you forge on, your voice noticeably more strained than before. “They...they took my little Alexa. They took my baby girl.”

A look passes between the alien and whomever is sitting in the shadows. “Why aren't the Imps tackling this one?”

“The Imp prefect claims it's a local issue, the local constabulary think that they took her off-world, which would make it an Imp issue.”

“Any hints on who might have done such a thing?”

“Just this.” You say, handing over a patch torn from a uniform jacket. Even though you've stared at it for weeks, the symbol has no meaning to you. The stylized bird clutching a lightning bolt with its wings forming into a blue T shape rings no bells. Glancing up, you notice through your tears that the alien's ears have pinned back against her head and her teeth are once again bared in a snarl, a low growl emanating from her throat. Beside her, you hear the male whisper almost too quietly to hear.

“ _Nu draar_.”

“You know this symbol?” You ask, a slim ray of hope building in you despite your best efforts to remind yourself that this could still end badly.

“I do. The Corsairs of Thunder. Led by a man named Palentine. And he's a dead man.”

“You're sure of that?”

“It's been a while since we've seen his mark used. But I'm positive it's him.”

“How positive?”

“Very.”

“You said it's been a while. Is there any chance you could be mistaken?” You need to be certain. This is the closest you've been to finding your daughter in weeks.

Before you can say another word, the alien interrupts, tugging at the collar of her blouse. Pulling the material aside, she shows you a dark scar on her chest. “None. You might say the memory is _burned in._ ”

Swallowing nervously, you nod. “So you'll help me?”

The male in the shadows mutters something under his breath, then pauses for a moment before he leans forward into the light. You can see now he's probably middle-aged, wearing green and bronze plates and a grey undersuit. Perhaps the most startling thing about him is his eyes: yellow, piercing, and decidedly not human. They wouldn't look out of place in the head of a direwolf, but in a human body the effect was downright disturbing.

“My name is Fenris.” His grin is that of a predator. “You've just hired yourself the galaxy's best bounty hunters. Send me the biometrics on your daughter, along with a recent hologram of her and any other information you might have. It doesn't matter how inconsequential it seems, it may make the difference.”

“Thank you!” You gasp, barely able to believe it. “Whatever it takes, I'll pay. I swear.”

“I know you will.” Fenris favours you with a wintry smile. “Trust me when I say this is one contract you won't break.” Rising, he grabs a green and bronze helmet from the bench beside him. “ _Vode_!” He calls, raising his voice to include the room at large. “ _Buy'ce_! _Mhi oya'karir aruetiise_!”

You aren't expecting the response that rumbles back from the half-dozen occupied tables in the tapcaf. “ _Oya_!” Most of the Mandalorians stand, drumming fists on the table, their armoured plates, any hard surface at hand. “ _Oya_! _Oya_! _Oya_!”

Turning to the female alien, you can't help but ask in a low voice. “What was it that he just said? And what does 'oya' mean?”

Turning her piercing stare at you once again, the alien mutters a gruff response. “Brothers. Helmets. We hunt traitors. Let's hunt.” Clearly she's a woman of few words. As you exit the bar in the company of at least a dozen Mandalorian bounty hunters, you can't help but think of Fenris' odd choice of words: We hunt traitors.


	2. The Hunt Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have the first chapter written in third person. I'm not going to translate all of the Mando'a language, but certain bits will be in the end notes.
> 
> Character attributions:  
> Cat'ika is Cat'ra Cadera, created by the wonderful LadyAbhorsen  
> Dromaar is Katra Dromaar, the brainchild of the amazing Sombraptor  
> Dan'lith is partially inspired by the talented SiladhielLithvirax.

Fenris tried hard not to roll his eyes. Even with his buy'ce on, he'd learned that there were certain individuals in the galaxy who could tell facial expressions without even looking. Fortunately, it seemed that their contact was not among that group. In his peripheral vision, he could see Casie's expression. It wasn't a happy one. Even without looking, he knew she was keeping one hand close to her blaster. The other was probably hanging stiffly by her side, ready to fling the small knife she kept tucked up her sleeve towards any threat. That was typical for her. Ever since that fateful day, many years in the past, she'd always kept at least one weapon by her side. Neither one ever spoke of what had happened that day; both could recall with vivid detail the events that had occurred. Fenris, as with so many others in their small village, had lost family. Casie had lost her everything. Years later, the Fates had caused their paths to cross once again. As was typical, she never discussed what had happened to her in the intervening years; he never inquired. Their shipmates likewise had never asked. That was the beauty of the pair's relationship with their vode. Each had things in their past that were never brought up, yet each of them knew when someone needed a shoulder to lean on, or a hand to pull them up. That was part of what it meant to be Mando'ade. You stood by your vode, you were there for your aliit. Circumstances never mattered; if your vode needed help, you were there. If the Alor'ad called, you rallied to their side. Above all, you always watched each others back. In the end, the only ones you could trust to be by your side until the end were your family. Didn't matter if they were related by blood or not. _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_. The words were etched into his vambrace; they stood watch over their ships' ramp. It was the unofficial clan motto: family is more than blood. Beside him, Casie impatiently tapped him on the shoulder.

“ _Me'ven_?” He asked, scanning the area with suddenly suspicious eyes.

“Our client asked you a question.” Casie growled. “[Please try and pay attention.]” She added, switching over to her native tongue. It was a fairly safe code to use, given that very few farlanders spoke Corthenian. The only reason Fenris even understood it was because he had grown up with her.

“Yes?” The armoured bounty hunter turned his gaze towards their client.

“I was wondering about the other bounty hunters. I never intended to hire an entire team. Just one man.” The client responded, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“Intelligence.” Karma save him from simple-minded fools. “Every operation starts with good intelligence. They have access to networks that I don't, and vice versa. We share what we find, and we have a gentlebeing's agreement between us that no one charges the other for their services. We simply trade back and forth. A couple of them are leaving to shake down their informants. One or two are heading back to inform our Alor'ad of the bounty, in case we need the full clan for this job.”

“And you trust them?”

“They are family.”

“I see.”

“The rest of them are merely a bit _haryc b'aalyc_. They'll forget what just happened in a few hours.”

“What's that mean?”

“It means tired and emotional. It's occasionally used as a euphemism for being drunk. Speaking of, after you talk with our Captain, you will remain here.”

“Why?” If anything, the clients' voice was a plaintive whine.

“You are emotionally attached to the target. That means you may do something rash at the wrong moment and compromise the mission.” Switching to Corthenian, Fenris turned his focus to Casie. “[You could have just as easily answered our clients' question.]”

Smirking, the Mungra growled her response. “[It's more fun this way.]”

“[Behave. Or else.]”

Growling in the Mungra equivalent of a chuckle, Casie gave a response that didn't bear translating.

Shaking his head, the Mandalorian snorted, evidently amused. “Don't tempt me.” Under his breath, he continued more to himself. “Of course, she'd enjoy that too much.”

“Fen'ika, “ A female voice broke into his thoughts. Unlike the Mungra, this voice was less harsh, possessing an almost lyrical quality to it. “I just wanted you to know, I've been listening to everything you say. What the two of you get up to in your private time is your business. Right now, you're on the clock. Be professional.”

“Of course you'd be listening, Lith'ika.”

“She's been listening ever since you left the bar.” Another voice interrupted with a laugh. “And Kay has been translating for us. It's been quite.....educational. And they say it's the quiet ones who bear watching.”

“Cat'ika.” Fenris' voice dropped to a low growl. “ _Copaani mirshmure'cye, ner vod_?”

“ _Nayc_.” The second voice swallowed nervously. “ _N'eparavu takisit, vod'ika_.”

“ _Wer'cuy_.” Shaking his head, Fenris glanced around. It always paid to keep an eye on one's surroundings. As it was, he wasn't expecting Dan'lith’s next words.

“Change of plans: the client is coming with us.”

“Why?”

“Partly to ensure they don't hire another team to follow us and save our fee. Partly because a heavy cruiser just dropped out of hyper. Vindicator-class.”

“Is it squawking a transponder code yet?”

Dan'lith's response made Fenris' blood run cold. “It's the _Anhur_.”

“We'll be at the ship in five.”

“Copy. _Ret_.”

Turning to his companions, the mercenary informed them of the news. Predictably, the client started worrying.

“We’re not going to be boarded by them, are we?”

Fenris fixed the client with a glare. “To board us, they’d have to catch us. For them to catch us, they’d have to find us.”

“Besides, “ Casie added helpfully. “If they realize who we are, they’re not going to bother boarding us.”

“Oh?” The client visibly relaxed at this news.

“Yup.” Fenris deadpanned. “They’d just blow us out of space without a second thought.”

The client’s face paled again. “Why?”

“The _Anhur_ is the personal command ship of Lieutenant Colonel Kauffmann. He holds a grudge against us.” Casie noted.

“We kind of blew up his ship once.” The mercenary continued. “He wanted an old Venator that had been converted to a research vessel. So we gave it to him. Ran the engines up to full power and played a game of chicken with his ship. Let me tell you, those old Dreadnaughts might be heavily armed and armoured for their size, but they’re slow. The _Reliant_ caught the _Icarus_ almost broadside. Snapped her in two.”

“Please tell me we’re just going to slip around the planet and get out of here.”

“Nope.” A new voice broke into the conversation. “We’re actually going to blow right by them. Head out on a course offset from theirs by about fifteen degrees. They’ll never be able to dump enough velocity to intercept us.” By now, the group had arrived at a sleek triple-decked ship. Before them at the base of the ramp stood a figure clad black and chrome beskar'gam, tapping a foot impatiently. “Don’t worry, our pilot is very good at playing keep-away. Fenris, if you would join Tanwyn and Cat on the bridge. Take the copilot’s station please. Casie, if you would please ensure everything is taken care of here, then head to the engineering station. I will settle our client down in one of the guest cabins and join you presently.”

“ _Ni sulusur bal shekemir, al’verde_.” With a polite nod to the figure, Fen and Casie made their way up the ramp into the ship.

Turning to the client, the Mandalorian spoke again, voice oddly courteous despite the almost droid-like appearance. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your cabin." Already, the whine of repulsorlifts and engines spooling up cut through the misty night air. "We are short on time."

As soon as the pair passed through the entryway, the ramp retracted and the sixty meter vessel rose from its landing pad. Delicately, the nose rose and the ship rotated to align itself on a specific track before gaining altitude and momentum. In short order, it pierced through the last layer of atmosphere into the inky blackness of space. Not surprisingly, the Vindicator-class heavy cruiser known as Anhur lay in wait, sailing towards the smaller craft.

"Corvette _Harpy's Talon_ , this is the Imperial Cruiser _Anhur_ approaching from your zero-two-zero by zero-one-seven. You are instructed to cut your accel immediately and prepare to be boarded. You are in violation of Imperial law."

Glancing first at Tanwyn, then at the helmeted figure behind them, Fen grinned wolfishly before flicking a switch to open the comm channel. "Cruiser _Anhur_ , this is the freighter _Bayten Svich_ , Amanda Lorien commanding. You have us mistaken for another ship."

"Uh, _Bayten Svich_ , your emissions match with a known pirate vessel. I repeat, cut your accel immediately and prepare for boarding."

"I don't suppose we could come to some sort of arrangement? We're on kind of a tight schedule here."

"Negative, _Bayten Svich_. This is your final warning. Comply with our instructions immediately." A series of turbolaser blasts underscored the heavy cruiser's seriousness.

"Three minutes thirty seconds until we can jump to lightspeed. Course, Captain?" Tanwyn muttered in a low tone designed to only be heard by the pair of Mandalorians next to her.

"Set course for Rishi. We'll spend an hour or so in hyper then drop out and recalculate for a direct jump to the Nest." The chrome Mandalorian replied in a similar low tone. Motioning for Fen to cut the transmission by drawing a thumb across their throat, they opened up short-range comms to the rest of the team. "Cadera, Dromaar, on the guns!"

With a bit of a rumble that was felt through the ship, Talon's twin-mount turrets opened up, returning the heavy cruiser's fire. Compared to the capital ship's weapons, they were only popguns. Normally, not something the larger ship would worry about - had their shields been up. As they weren't, the Mandalorian crewed corvette scored a few long-range hits. In reply, _Anhur_ intensified her barrage and launched fighters. The response was expected, and Tanwyn expertly wove the smaller ship through a series of complicated patterns designed to spoil the cruiser's aim. As she did, both Cadera and Dromaar shifted from anti-ship firing patterns to anti-starfighter patterns.They scored a few hits on the incoming TIEs before the _Talon_ made the jump to hyperspace with a flicker of pseudomotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ni sulusur bal shekemir, al’verde is Mandalorian for "I hear and obey, Commander".  
> N'eparavu takisit, vod'ika is "I eat my insult, little sibling", a Mandalorian form of apology.
> 
> Update: 1/15/2021, switched out a character, and did some minor species changing to reflect updates in the established universe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads' up, this is the first chapter where we get a good look at Fen's PTSD. While he's not the only one who has it, his will be the main focus for now. There will be more explored with his past through the rest of this work.
> 
> Once again, Cat is created by my real-life vod LadyAbhorsen.  
> Also, a shout-out to Dral'Koumine for letting me bounce ideas off you ^_^

_“Incoming!”_

_At the shouted warning, Private Leolyn Vaughn, 29th Jaeger Divison, snapped his head back, eyes searching for the incoming rounds. There! Spotting them, he dove for the nearest shelter, sliding in the mud and filth of the trench. Gaining the shelter, he pulled his legs in tight, making room for another soldier to slide in next to him. As he did so, he felt and heard the loud thumping booms of the artillery shells slamming to the ground all around him and exploding. His body shook and bounced with each strike, jostling him around the small dugout. Dimly, he became aware of other sounds between the explosions. It took his rattled brain a long moment to piece together what he was hearing. They were the anguished shrieks of wounded soldiers; they were the hurried cries of “stretcher bearer!” and “medic! Man Down!”. They were the purposeful shouts of company non-coms demanding headcounts and to know who was hit. Then, as suddenly as the barrage began, it stopped. Gingerly, Leo got to his feet, shaking his head to try and clear the ringing in his ears. Medics and stretcher teams started moving through the trenches, collecting the wounded who could be saved. Unsteadily, as his equilibrium had been thrown off, he collected the precious ammunition for nest seventeen and made his way through the bustle, his small size allowing him to slip through gaps that most soldiers couldn’t._

_Bare minutes later, he finished wiggling his way up the narrow depression that led to nest seventeen - calling it a trench would have been an insult to proper trenches. It did serve a purpose in protecting soldiers transiting the channel from snipers, but at barely a meter deep, one either had to stoop-walk, or crawl. With the recent artillery barrage reducing the walls in some spots to almost nothing, the only option was to belly-crawl through fifteen meters of mud and debris. He rolled into what was left of the nest, only to see that the strongpoint had apparently taken a direct hit. To one side, Gefreiter Tomlin lay clutching at a belly wound. There was no sign of either Kanonier Miller or Long, the two assistant gunners assigned to Tomlin. Leo had a hunch as to what happened, but he decided to try very hard not to think about that. Almost as hard as he was trying to not look at the bloody boot._

_“Private!” Tomlin gasped, drawing his attention through the haze of shock at the carnage. Motioning at the heavy machine gun toppled over on its side, she continued. “Get that gun up. They’ll...gah!” A gasp of pain cut her off. She waved him off as he shifted towards her, intent on staunching the blood leaking between her fingers. “It’s too late for me, boy.” She continued weakly. “They’ll be coming. Be ready.”_

_“I hear and obey, Herr Gefreiter.” Slithering over to the toppled weapon, the young soldier got his shoulder under it and heaved, straining against the weight. Somehow, despite the slipperiness of the mud, he managed to right the gun. Swiftly, as he’d been trained to do, he popped the cover, checked the action for mud, and reloaded the weapon. Setting the additional cans of ammo next to him, he chanced popping his head up over the lip of the ring of sandbags. As Gefreiter Tomlin had predicted, Techno Union infantry were steadily advancing through the rain, intent on driving the RAC and its militia support out of their trenches. All along the line, sporadic fire crackled as soldiers spotted their advancing foe. Sighting in on the oncoming troops, Leo flexed his fingers before squeezing the trigger. Under his hand, the machine gun bucked as it coughed fire, tearing into the advancing enemy. Swinging the barrel back and forth, the boy scythed fire across the axis of advance, ripping holes into the Alliance formation. It seemed that no sooner had he started firing than the gun started clicking, and he realized that he’d run through the belt of ammo. Popping the cover again, he fumbled for another belt before a shout drew his attention away from reloading. Three soldiers, all wearing the uniform of the hated Techno Union, stood there weapons ready. Even as he looked up, one batted away the barrel of the heavy machine gun he’d been firing. Another moved to his right, and he heard the sickening sound of a bayonet tearing through flesh as the soldier drove the point into Gefreiter Tomlin’s heart. The third started advancing on him._

_Grabbing the first thing at hand, an entrenching tool, Leo swung at the soldier, slamming the edge of the shovel into the man’s ribs. The man, his ribs shattered and splinters driven into his lungs, went down coughing blood as he screamed. The second soldier, the one who’d kicked the barrel out of the way, used his rifle to bat away the shovel Leo held._

_“I’m gonna enjoy this, boy. been too long since I taught a young whelp like you some manners. You don’t ever raise your hand against your betters.” The man taunted, advancing on the young trooper._

_Leo scrambled back, groping for a weapon. His hand felt the grip of a pistol, and he snatched it out of the mud, swinging it into line and pulling the trigger. There was a brief snap-hiss as a bright light crossed the intervening gap between the muzzle and the CA thug. Without warning, the man screamed and dropped his rifle, grabbing at his stomach. A small eerie glow had taken up residence there, growing with each passing second accompanied by the anguished shrieks of the tortured soul whose body was now being burned from the inside. He dropped to his knees, still frantically digging at his stomach. Moments later, the anguished shrieks ended when his head exploded into fine mist._

Fen snapped awake with a suppressed gasp. It had been a while since he'd last dreamed of his past life. Dreams? More like nightmares, really. It was odd; most days his past didn't bother him in his sleep. The dead rarely haunted him, and he was able to keep a lid on his PTSD during the day. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Jack was active again that had caused this nightmare. So many had suffered at his hands. In a way, it was a wonder that nobody else had killed the chakaar yet. One day, though. One day that _shabla di'kut_ would get his.

Silently, Fen rolled off the bed, trying not to disturb the woman with whom he shared it. Casie had enough problems in her life; she didn't need to be bothered by this also. Padding across the decksole, he slipped out into the corridor, savoring the cool air in the passageway. Oddly enough, it made him feel alive. He thought for a moment, and then headed for the small gym onboard the _Talon_ , figuring he'd burn off his stress.

Arriving in the small gym, he set up the weight bench, before beginning his workout. Each push of the bar drove a bit of pain from his mind, and he gave himself fully over to the workout. Eventually, he became aware of a hand trailing up his leg, and he glanced down to see Casie standing there, wrapped in a robe and concern etched across her features.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, _cyar'ika_." Fen replaced the weight bar on the hooks and craned his head to look at her, taking deep breaths to bring his heart rhythm back to normal.

"You didn't wake me, love. Your absence did." The Mungra issued a wry snort. "Nightmares? Been a while since they bothered you this bady."

Sighing, Fen grabbed the weight bar and began a new set of reps with it. "I know. But I can handle it. Just gotta keep pushing." He was surprised when her weight settled on him, her warmth chasing away the coolness of a ship in deep space.

"That's just it, Fenris Claddanna." Casie leaned over to look him in the eye. When he tried glancing away, she grabbed his jaw and pulled his head back around. She _never_ used his full name. "You're not dealing. You're pointedly ignoring what the war did to you. What it did to all of us. You know how much trouble I had with dealing with what I went through - how much trouble I still have coping. I'm beginning to suspect you never even tried to deal with what you went through."

"I'm dealing with the effects of that war just fine." Fen snapped shortly. "It happened. I survived. Others didn't. That's what happens in war."

"No, you're not." Casie's tone went cold. "You're lying to me. More importantly, you're lying to yourself." Sighing, she scrubbed her muzzle before glaring at him, her tone softening just a bit. "I know you don't want to burden me with this, but if you won't talk to me about it, then at least talk to one of the _aliit_. Maybe Jora or Ka'ra. They might be able to help. Hell, talk to Kal, Ordo, or Bardan. I know you have no love for Jedi, but he's not one. Not anymore. Maybe he can do that spoon-bending stuff like he did for Arla."

"Maybe."

"Definitely. You know I'm right. I'm also hurt you won't be honest and communicate with me. You remember our vows, right?"

"I do."

"And what were they?" She asked, running her hands playfully along his torso, teasing him with a light touch. "Hrm?"

" _Mhi solus tome; mhi solus dar'tome_." We're one when we're together; we're one when we're apart.

"Yes. _Mhi me'dinui an,_ we share all." She gave him _that_ smile, the one she only used when they were alone and she was in the mood for fun. "And you haven't been sharing, have you?" Casie's tone was that of one speaking to a naughty puppy. Her bedroom voice, she sometimes called it.

Sighing, Fen shook his head. "No, you're right. I haven't been sharing this. I didn't want to burden you with my troubles. If...if I'm not strong enough to handle them myself, how could I expect you to handle them along with your own?"

"A burden shared is a burden more easily carried, Fenris." Rising, Casie headed for the door. "But if you don't think I'm strong enough to help, then you don't respect me as your equal. When you're ready to get your head out of your _shabla_ arse and stop being a _di'kut_ , let me know. In the meantime, I think it's best you sleep elsewhere. When you're ready to respect me as your equal and accept help with what's in your head, then you'll be welcome to share my bed once again." The Mugra nodded politely to Cat on the way out. " _Ner vod_."

Angry with himself, Fen looked at the younger Mando. "You heard all that, then?"

Cat nodded, arms crossed over her chest.

"Are you going to say anything?"

Giving him a very annoyed look, Cat turned on her heel. As she followed Casie out, she paused, looking over her shoulder. " _Di'kut_."

With a snarl, Fen grabbed the weight bar again, pumping hard against the mass, attempting to burn off his frustration. After a while, he stopped with a sigh. Casie was right, of course. She always was.

"Well, fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde - "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."—Mandalorian marriage vows, in their entirety.  
> Shabla - a Mandalorian curse, similar to frak.  
> Di'kut - a moron, literally one so stupid they would forget to put pants on.  
> Cyar'ika - Sweetheart


End file.
